Missing Pieces
by KayyLyn
Summary: All her life, she never really knew where she belonged, who she was, or who she was supposed to be. Soon after turning eighteen and freshly released from prison, she learns her true identity and all it brings with it. From coming to terms with a twisted path, to finding comfort in siblings she didn't know she had, she finally figures out what her life was missing all along.
1. Chapter 1 - Revelations

**Chapter 1 - Revelations**

I sighed as I stood waiting outside the old brick building, my hand instinctively pulling my thin jacket closer to my body. I let the nicotine hit my blood stream before making my way inside, the piece of paper I had to have signed seeming to weigh a million pounds. I slipped into the same folding chair I always chose, one furthest from the podium. My knee bounced as I watched some of the familiar faces from the last eight meetings file in, most notably Brad, who had agreed to sign my court mandated paperwork after each meeting.

I paid little attention as people started to share their feelings. I'd done the whole group thing growing up, after I failed to stay in a foster home for very long. Each time, I felt uncomfortable and in need of a drink. AA meetings were no different. I wasn't an alcoholic. I just liked a few drinks after a stressful day.

"Grace, why don't you share this time?" Brad encouraged. It was my ninth meeting. The ninth time I refused to say anything. "C'mon, just once?" He gave me a look that told me if I didn't share something, anything, he wouldn't sign the paper. I sighed inwardly, knowing I only needed to get through six more meetings before I finally finished my terms of probation.

I slowly made my way to the podium, receiving gently encouragement from the breakfast club like group of drunks who had come to know me – or somewhat know me – over the last few months. After spending two months in jail for aggravated assault, I figured, why not try to make some friends with the fuck up's of Chicago's South Side.

"My name's Grace, but most of you know that already," I muttered, running my hand over my face in frustration.  
"Hi, Grace," the crowd echoed out of habit alone.  
"Unlike most of you," I said carefully, my eyes scanning the crowd. I found my eyes lingering on the man in the back – he had light brown, curly hair and a thin smile on his lips. I'd seen him from time in time in the Alibi Room – a bar I frequented for as long as I could remember. We shared a mutual friend, Kevin Ball, the same person who had posted my bail after I got into a fight with a couple guys outside of the bar. "I'm only here because the judge thinks I have a problem."

I smiled inwardly as several people chuckled. I didn't take my eyes off the man in the back. Something about him seemed familiar – more so than just another drunk I saw from time to time.

"Maybe I do," I said with a shrug. "But alcohol takes care of that problem," I laughed. "Anyway, I'd love to stand up here and lie to you, say I'm such and such days sober, but let's face it, after a meeting, I do what all of you want to do," I said, my tongue clicking softly. "I hit a bar, drink away my sorrows, and go on to lead a productive, alcohol -." Brad cut me off before I could continue.

"Thanks for sharing, Gracelyn," he said dimly. I threw a snarky smile his way before returning to my seat. The rest of the meeting droned on, before finally, I could make my way outside for a much needed cigarette.

After saying goodbye to a couple people I actually knew, I stuck around, waiting for Brad to sign the damn slip for me.

"You know, Gracelyn, if you'd work the program…" he murmured as he initialed in the correct spot.  
"I'm not a drunk, Brad," I said sourly. "Trust me."  
"Let's go to Patsy's, talk over a slice of pie?" he tried. He always went to Patsy's after a meeting with some of the guys from the group. "Please? Just this once?"  
"Whatever," I muttered. I didn't have shit else to do anyway. "Meet there in 20?"  
"Where are you going first?" He asked carefully. Brad knew good and well where I was going.  
"My probation officer doesn't give a fuck if I'm sober," I reminded him. "Besides, I need to check in. He needs this," I waved the paper in the air.  
"20 minutes," Brad nodded. I said nothing as I walked briskly down the sidewalk, grateful that my PO always met me a few blocks away from the brick building. After checking in, he informed me that if I completed all of my meetings, I'd finally be off probation, since I completed the mandatory 150 hours of community service a week prior.

I made my way to Patsy's Pies a while later, later than I expected to. I'd stopped to refill my flask beforehand, knowing that after a sit down with Brad, I'd only have one thing on my mind.

"Didn't think you were going to show up," Brad said eagerly, standing so I could slide into the booth. "You already know James and Timmy," he said as he motioned towards the two older men in the group. They were always nice to me at meetings. "This is Lip," he motioned to the curly haired man I saw at the meeting.  
"Gallagher, right?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. Lip nodded, his eyes searching mine. "Small world."  
"What's that mean?" Brad asked, clearly intrigued.  
"Nothing," I shook my head.  
"How's the search for your birth parents coming?" Timmy asked. He'd helped me fill out the right paperwork the week before. I hadn't updated him since we turned them in at city hall. It was surprisingly hard for an eighteen-year-old to get a hold of their birth certificates if they didn't know where they were born.  
"Another dead end," I scoffed. "My mother signed it, but apparently daddy-dearest couldn't be bothered."  
"You know who your mom is though?" Brad asked, giving me an encouraging look. God, I hated sponsors.  
"Yeah, but she's dead, so it's another dead end."  
"What was her name? Was your name really Gracelyn?" Timmy bombarded me with questions. For a split second, I was ready to pull out the flask and spike the coffee that was sitting in front of me, but I knew better than to do that.  
"Monica. No last name. How the fuck she pulled that off is beyond me," I sighed. "But no, I wasn't born a Gracelyn, thank fucking god, because I've hated this name since I was old enough to write it. Found out my birthday is all fucked up too."  
"Really?" Timmy asked. I barely registered his question because I was too busy watching Lip's expression change. He blinked quickly, before getting up hastily, much to everyone's surprise. Brad made a move to follow him, but decided against it.  
"What's his problem?" Timmy scoffed. I said nothing, just looked the way Lip had left.  
"I'll be right back," I said slowly, as I stood to leave.  
"Lip's in a mood, better to let him go," Brad said warily.  
"I know his type. Dated enough drunks in my lifetime," I said with a wave of my hand. "I promise, I won't fuck up my probation," I added as an afterthought. Brad knew I had a temper, one that could easily get me into a lot of trouble if I wasn't careful.

I hurried out of the diner, catching the troubled look one of the waitresses shot my way. It didn't take me long to find Lip, he was standing at the corner, his bare arms crossed, having left his coat behind.

"What's up your ass?" I asked as I approached him, a cigarette loosely gripped between my lips.  
"That name…" he mused, looking up at the sky.  
"The fuck are you talking about?" I asked.  
"Fucking Monica," he grumbled. He refused to look at me and for a moment, I found my brain scrambling to figure out why that name might mean something to him.  
"You know her?" I asked, hopeful, too damn hopeful. After spending my entire life bouncing from one foster home to the next, facing abuse that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, I couldn't help but he hopeful that maybe, just maybe I could get a lead on who I really was.  
"Knew her," he scoffed. I stared at him blankly, my hand reaching for my flask without thinking. I took a long sip, letting the heat of the whiskey burn away the emotions that threatened to bubble over. I hesitated before offering it to him, knowing that it was insanely inconsiderate to offer an alcoholic liquor, but I was far from a saint. Against his better judgement, Lip shook his head.  
"Knew? As in past tense?" I asked, taking another sip.  
"She's dead. Been dead since last year," Lip murmured.  
"Son of a bitch," I muttered. So it was a dead end.  
"She…there was no father on your birth certificate?" he asked hesitantly.  
"No," I sighed. I pulled the folded piece of paper out of my pocket. For whatever reason, I'd been carrying it around with me since I got it.  
"Son of a bitch," Lip growled. He threw the paper back at me, his eyes ablaze. I hesitated, before finally working up the balls to ask him what the fuck that was about. He didn't say anything, instead, stormed back into the diner. The brunette who had stared at me before, was talking to him when I finally made my way back in.

"You're kidding me!" I heard her exclaim. She shot me another look. I stood, confused, near the booth where Brad and the rest were still talking over pie.  
"What did you do?" Brad asked me, his face turning from one of concern to one of anger.  
"Nothing!" I cried. "He told me he knew Monica," I added. Brad sighed and watched as Lip and the brunette went back and forth for a few moments, before she finally approached our table.

"Let me see it," she said sternly. I blinked, now completely confused.  
"Excuse me?" I asked, my fingers curling into fists.  
"The birth certificate, let me see it," she demanded.  
"Why?" I asked, now really needing a fucking drink. I had to keep my temper in check, I knew that. My freedom relied on it, but her tone sent ripples of rage through my already hot blood.  
"Because Monica was my fucking mother," she growled.

I felt my mouth fall open at her words. Suddenly, everything I worked so hard to keep together, the fact that I would never track down my birth family, the acceptance of that fact, falling apart around me. I blinked, trying to get the wires in my brain to cooperate with little avail. Finally, I managed to pull the piece of paper out, my heart beating so fast, I was sure the entire diner could hear it.

"I can't fucking believe it," the woman hissed as she scanned the piece of paper with her eyes, her eyes tearing over slightly. "I don't believe it."  
"What?" I managed to squeak out. "What!"  
"You're…holy fucking shit," she hand rose to her mouth. "I knew you looked eerily familiar when you walked in here…"  
"Spit it out for fuck's sake!" I cried. I felt Brad's hand tighten around my wrist. I spared a glance back at him, catching the warning look in his eyes. "What!"  
"Monica…how…" the woman's eyes teared over now. She quickly swiped at the tears. As soon as Lip saw her tear up, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.  
"Fi, it's okay," he murmured. I suddenly realized that the two looked alike. They had to have been siblings. "Fiona?"  
"She's his twin," she said, her voice shaking. "She's Ian's fucking twin."

I wasn't sure if it was the alcohol that flowed through my veins that caused it, or the pure shock of the situation, but as soon as the words left her lips, I found the diner swimming at a speed that nearly floored me. I felt someone pull me towards the booth and sat down heavily, unable to form a coherent thought.

"The birthday," the woman, Fiona, said, pointing at the date on the piece of paper. "They…they're…"  
"I know," Lip said carefully. He studied me again, his time, his eyes tracing the features on my face.

I broke the stare, suddenly feeling like the room was going to fall down around me. I pushed past the pair, ignoring Brad's panicked cries as I ran from the diner, my heart in my throat. I'd been drinking since nine that morning, so as soon as the cold air hit me, I felt the food I'd only just recently eaten rise in my throat. I doubled over, letting the contents paint the sidewalk in a wonderful shade of yellow. Once I felt I could stand upright, I took off running in the general direction of where my van was parked, the only home I had anymore, having been evicted from my apartment the week before I got arrested. In the back of my mind, I found myself silently admitting that maybe I really did have a problem, though I'd never admit the words aloud. I was about to shove the key into the ignition when I remembered that my jacket was still at the diner, my keys still in the pocket of it, along with my flask, cigarettes and phone. I cursed inwardly, hating that in my haste, I hadn't thought to grab it. I didn't want to return to the diner, so I didn't. I sat in the van, overly aware of how damn cold it was, but grateful that my bottle of cheap whiskey was right where I left it. I chugged as much as my mind could handle before clumsily pushing the door open, letting the icy air bite at my bare skin. I could have grabbed a sweater from the back of the van, but even in my drunken haze, I knew it was covered in vomit from the night before. I glared at the building in front of me, almost feeling like it was taunting me, making me feel even worse about being in the situation I was in. Angrily, I approached the brick siding, throwing several punches at it, until my anger was under control. I sat back down in the driver's seat, the door still open, my hand not yet registering the pain that I was sure would be there in the morning. I considered my options for a while before finally getting up again, this time closing the door behind me.

Without wanting to spend the rest of the night parked in front of the same brick building I was trying to avoid, I slowly made my way back to the diner, this time overly aware that the open sign had been flipped over. I could see from where I stood across the street that Brad and the rest had already taken off, but through the glass, I could see Lip and Fiona sitting in the booth that the trio had once occupied.

I tried the door, pissed beyond words that it was locked. I walked over to the window near the booth and tapped lightly, motioning to my coat that was still in the same spot I left it. A moment later, Fiona shoved open the door, motioning for me to come inside.

"Jesus," she mused as she looked me over. "You smell like a damn brewery."  
"Gee, thanks," I slurred. "I just need my shit."  
"As much as I hate to say this, I'm not letting you leave like this," Fiona said carefully. "It'd be wrong."  
"I don't know who the fuck you think I am, but I'm a grown ass adult, I'll do as I please," I growled, more out of stubborn habit that actual anger.  
"Tough," she said firmly. "I own the apartment building down the street, you can crash there."  
"Fuck that," I said stubbornly, though my words slurred more than I would have liked.  
"You can have your coat, but I'm keeping your keys," Lip said sternly, coming to his sister's side.  
"Again, don't know the fuck you think I am, but I'm leaving," I slurred. I made a move to grab my keys from the curly haired man, but stumbled in my effort to do so. Unwillingly, I let the man catch me before I could hit my face off the chair behind him.  
"Fuck," he swore as he pushed me towards the booth. I sat down, though I was no longer in control of my movements.  
"I'm going to call Ian," Fiona said softly. "Her hand's bleeding pretty bad."  
"You gonna tell him?" I vaguely made out Lip asking as he placed a glass of water in front of me.  
"Not yet," she said carefully. "Not until we know more."

I was barely registering their conversation at that point, my vision blurring so horribly, I had to shut my eyes to keep from throwing up.  
"Think she's another Sammi?" Lip's voice asked hesitantly.  
"No," Fiona replied. I sensed someone staring at me but made no move to acknowledge them. "God, she looks exactly like him."  
"Right down to the freckles and eyes," Lip agreed. I could sense a feeling of calm, of safety wash over me, something I'd never felt before. "He'll know, you know."  
"Yeah, probably," Fiona's voice carried from some ways off. "It…it definitely explains the letter he found when he went through Monica's shit."  
"Yeah," Lip murmured. I felt someone touch my face then. "Hey, hey, Grace, you still in there?" he asked softly. I forced my eyes open and for the first time, really took in his face. Any time I'd seen him before that moment, he looked angry or sad about something. In that moment, he looked anything but.  
"Mmm," I managed to groan.  
"Get a bucket," I heard Lip instruct before I felt him push my hair from my face. "Hey, you're safe, okay? And in response to your earlier statement, you most definitely are an alcoholic."  
"Fuck…" bile rose in the back of my throat, but I managed to force it down. "…you."

As soon as the words left my lips, my stomach heaved. Lucky for them, Fiona's had retrieved a bucket quickly and I managed to not puke on Lip's shoes as he held my hair from my face, murmuring softly while I shook against his grip. As soon as my stomach had nothing left to free itself of, the room seemed to dim even more, my vision growing darker and darker around the edges. Before I could react, everything went black. Something I was all too comfortable with, despite the insanely fucked up situation I seemed to be in.

* * *

I woke some time later to the familiar sound of my best friend screaming at me over the roaring in my ears. I blinked my eyes against the harsh diner lights, taking only a few seconds to register that Raelyn Quinn, my former foster sister and trusted ally was shaking me roughly.

"Stop…shaking…me," I murmured as I shoved her away in time to puke for what felt like the millionth time.  
"Fucking Christ, Gracelyn, first you get fucking arrested and held in Cook County, mind you, the one fucking place I don't have hook ups, then you get out and go AWOL so I have to rely on shitty updates from Iggy Milkovich of all fucking people, now you go and get so fucking trashed I'm getting a call at 2AM from your fucking sponsor?" she screamed.  
"Take it down a notch, sis, please," I groaned, holding my head in both hands. Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard in that moment. "Who the fuck called you?"  
"Brad," she scoffed. "Told me I could find you here. Said you learned who you really were. These three took care of you till I could get here. Mind you, that was _after_ I called you a hundred times, since you never checked in last night."  
"Not my sponsor, just a do-gooder who can't stay out of everyone's lives," I growled. I could barely remember the events of the last few hours. I remembered a meeting but that was about it. I could remember ending up at the diner, and at some point learning that the brunette who owned the place was Lip's sister, but what actually happened, all of it was a blur. I sat up straighter, realizing she said three people. "Three?"

I looked at the pair of familiar faces, registering that I was still at Patsy's when my eyes locked on the face of someone who could quite literally be me in male form. Suddenly, as soon as our eyes locked, I felt something rush through me that I had never felt before. It felt like I finally found the missing piece, the piece that I didn't know I was missing.

"Earth to Gracelyn? You still with us?" Raelyn waved her hand quickly in front of my face. I blinked, my eyes never leaving the man's face. "Seriously, Gracie, you're actually freaking me the fuck out."  
"Remember when we first got into the same home? You know, the group home in Rockford?" I asked her carefully. "When we used to joke that I was always so one way about everything? You said it was almost like there was another part of me missing?"  
"Sure, we were trying to pass the time, in a productive way, instead of getting our asses kicked since you know, brilliant blonde and hard-ass gingers aren't supposed to get along," she laughed softly.  
"I think…I think I just found my missing part."

* * *

 **A/N : Now, here I went and promised myself I wouldn't start another story before I finished my latest one, but after an interesting dream I had a couple nights ago, I couldn't shake this one from my mind. I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with it, but I've yet to do a first person POV for shameless, so I figured may as well.**

 **Comments will definitely motivate me to keep going with this one!**


	2. Chapter 2 - Admit it, You Coward

**Chapter 2 - Admit It, You Coward**

I sighed heavily as I watched Raelyn and Lip go back and forth outside, both of them yelling angrily at one another, all while Fiona explained to Ian everything that happened the night before. I was sitting in the same booth, my knees to my chest, nursing a killer headache and a broken hand.

"I still think you should get that looked at," Ian muttered, sliding in next to me. "It's definitely broken."  
"It'll heal," I shrugged, taking a sip of the water Fiona had insisted on setting down in front of me.  
"So Fi…Fiona says you're Monica's kid?" he asked hesitantly. I looked up at him, still trying to wrap my head around everything. I stared into his green eyes, eyes that I too had. I shook my head a second later, pulling the birth certificate out of my coat pocket. He stared at it for a moment, before his eyes shot up to glare at Fiona.  
"Fi," he growled. I felt him tense next to me, and for whatever reason, my hand shot out to stop him from getting up.  
"It kind of explains a lot of stuff," Fiona said hesitantly. "I know it's a lot to process Ian."  
"Someone care to fill me in?" I asked impatiently, my hand still on Ian's arm.  
"You…me…we…" Ian shook his head, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "We've got the same birthday."  
"Okay?" I asked, my head still fuzzy. "So what?"  
"Monica is…" Ian cleared his throat. "Grace, Monica's our mom. Mine. Lip's, Fiona's. We have three other siblings too. We're all hers. You and me, we have the same birthday. Same year, same everything," he said slowly, almost as if he were spelling it out for me.

It took a few minutes. To be fair, I hadn't exactly had a lot of time to sleep off all the booze just yet. I was just about to say something when Raelyn came into the diner, her face set in a way I was all too familiar with.

"You never should have came back to Chicago," she growled at me, slamming her hand down on the table. "You were better off not knowing!"  
"Fuck you!" I growled, climbing over the back of the booth, anger rising in my chest. "I spent my entire life not knowing! Fuck you!"  
"I have done nothing but protect you, in all these years, Gracelyn, I warned you, I warned you years ago when you went slinking off with Milkovich, and I warned you before you came back! Chicago isn't your home! You're here all of a week and already have a record, you're not a kid anymore, wake up and realize that!" her words cut me like a knife.  
"Iggy was a mistake," I deadpanned. "But he kept me out of the system that last year," I reasoned, not entirely sure why I was defending that dark part of my past. "But fuck you!" I spat, feeling like a little kid again. "Just because we happened to get bounced around together don't make you family! Besides, you know your family died, that's how you got put in the system," my words came out with so much bite, I wasn't the least bit surprised when she slunk back. "I, on the other hand, _never_ knew where I belonged. Rockford? That place was a living hell. Even when I managed to get into a halfway decent family, shit went south. It always went south. Do you even know what that's like? You did four years in foster care! I did seventeen!"  
"You…" Raelyn swiped at the tears that had formed in the corners of her eyes. "You open this can of worms and you aren't going to be able to take it back. Instead of being the selfish little girl you are, think about the lives you're going to effect in the process. These people," she motioned to Fiona, Lip and Ian. "These people don't need you coming in with all your baggage and fucking up what they have, okay? They don't need yet another unknown siblings waltzing in, fucking everything up."  
"It's not my fault," I said softly, my hands trembling. I balled them into fists to keep them still at my side. "I deserve to know who the fuck I was supposed to be, don't you get it? All my life, I felt like I didn't belong. I felt like I wasn't whole, like I didn't have all my pieces," my voice hitched in my throat. "I was four, when I knew I was different, okay? I wasn't like the other kids. I liked books too much, I imagined having a fucking twin for fucks sake. I imagined that I just got lost when we were born and I always," I took a deep breath, the pressure in my chest unbearable. I would have given anything for a drink but the churning in my stomach reminded me that wasn't a good idea. "I always felt like something was missing."  
"You have abandonment issues and you're fucking borderline Bi-Polar Gracelyn! Of course you're fucked up, you were a ward of the state your entire fucking life. These fucking people don't need your fucking bullshit. Hell, if it wasn't for the fact I never got to protect my baby sister, my ass would have left you a long ass time ago!" She screamed. She took a step towards me, but then, something I wasn't expecting happened.

"You need to go," Ian said, coming to stand in front of me, shielding me from Raelyn's angry glare. "You need to leave, now."  
"You don't know what you're getting yourself into," Raelyn growled. "None of you do."  
"We can handle it," Fiona said, coming up to stand beside her brother. "See, something _you_ don't know about us? We're used to life throwing us curveballs. I've seen the birth certificate. So have they," she motioned towards Ian and Lip. "As much as it confuses the hell out of us, she's blood. We're Gallagher's and family _always_ comes first."

Raelyn scoffed at that. She looked absolutely amused.

"Good fucking riddance," she said, a sadistic chuckle leaving her lips. "Hey, Gracie? When they realize just how fucked up you are, don't call me. I'm done protecting your ungrateful, impossibly stubborn ass. When you come to your senses and realize that maybe it wasn't such a bad thing that your mom dumped your ass the second you came out of her, maybe then you'll realize you never should have went digging up the past. They say it's supposed to stay there for a -," Lip cut her off by turning her quickly and shoving her towards the door, his eyes wild with frustration. I sighed, running my hands over my face, the effects of last night's binge drinking catching up with me.

"We're twins, huh?" I muttered, staring at Ian again. He turned to me, a semi-cocky grin playing on his face.  
"Looks that way," he said, his tone almost bright. "First things first," he went on, his hands snaking into my coat pocket, retrieving the flask. I eyed it, nearly inching towards it. "You need a meeting."  
"I'm not an alcoholic," I grumbled, though my voice had absolutely no bite.  
"And I'm not gay," he shrugged, grinning this time. "C'mon, Lip'll take you. Then I'll meet you for a late lunch and we can, you know, get to know each other or something."  
"uh," I stared at him blankly, having absolutely no idea how to wrap my head around anything in that moment. I threw a helpless glance at Fiona, who smiled slightly.

"He's taking it better than I did," she shrugged. "Trust me, you aren't the first kid we didn't know about to turn up."  
"At least you aren't some drugged up skank," Lip chimed in. "C'mon, I promise, I won't make you talk."

I hesitated, completely confused at their reaction. I felt someone give me a reassuring squeeze, again, surprised to see Ian seeming to sense the same thing I had when he almost got up moments earlier.

"Unlike Sammi, you're a fucking splitting image, there's no denying you're a Gallagher," Fiona said gently as she pushed another glass of water in front of me. "And forget about what that bitch said – you're not fucking up our lives by finding us. You didn't exactly look us up anyway," she said with a shrug.  
"Kind of like fate dropped you in our laps," Ian said with a smile. His smile made me feel safe, something I definitely wasn't used to. "Go. We'll meet back here for lunch."  
"Yeah…okay," I nodded. I made a move to grab the flask from Ian, but he was faster than I was.  
"You're gonna be sober, miss, I don't have a drinking problem," he chided. If he was anyone else, I would have lost it. Iggy used to taunt me the same way. This was different. The way he said it, the look of concern in his eyes, it made me realize that there was more to the man sitting next to me than met the eye.

With a heavy sigh, I slid out of the booth, not entirely steady on my feet, but steady enough not to fall. I could smell the alcohol on my breath and cursed inwardly. There was no way Brad would sign my slip today. I grabbed my coat and waited as the three had a quick conversation as I stepped outside, lighting a cigarette, letting the nicotine work its way into my bloodstream. I tried to reason with myself that it had to all be a dream. Some sick, twisted fever dream from drinking way too much and passing out somewhere. It wouldn't have been the first time. I'd dreamt of finding my birth family a million times before, mostly after a night of heavy, reckless drinking. As the calm from the nicotine washed over me, I was more and more convinced at any moment I would wake up in the van or on the sidewalk somewhere and realize it was all a dream.

A few minutes later, I felt someone tap my shoulder. I turned and saw Lip standing behind me, his hands up in surrender. I hesitated, letting the cigarette dangle recklessly in my ungloved hands, before giving a quick nod.

"Everyone falls off the wagon sometimes," he said gently. There was no malice or judgement in his words.  
"I haven't been sober a single day since I turned nine," I said hesitantly. "It only got this bad after…"  
"After what?" he asked softly, leading me slowly towards the brick building that our meetings were held at.  
"After Rockford," I sighed. Rockford was a nightmare. In comparison to Chicago, I'd rather live on the streets of Canaryville than ever have to face Rockford again.  
"Wanna talk about it?" he asked carefully. I found feel him studying my face.  
"I spent three years up there," I said carefully, my voice cracking slightly. "First a shitty ass foster home where the mom loathed me for ever coming into her life and the dad beat the shit out of me until I finally called my social worker myself. Then a crappy ass group home, where thankfully, I had Rae to back me up whenever someone wanted to jump me just for having red hair."  
"Jesus," he scoffed, rubbing his hands over his face. I noticed he had a habit of tugging at his hair when he was thinking about something. "How bad?"  
"Excuse me?" I looked at him, confused.  
"How bad was it?"

I hesitated before lifting the leg of my jeans, revealing a deep scar that ran from my knee to my ankle. It was from the last day I spent in Rockford before I found myself seeking refuge with the Milkovich clan.

"Holy shit," his eyes widened. The scar was still angry, despite the year and a half since it happened.  
"Yeah," I said carefully. "So yeah, okay, maybe I do have a drinking problem."  
"First step to recovery is admitting you have a problem," an unwelcomed voice came from ahead of us. I looked up to see Brad giving me a concerned look. "Glad he managed to drag you to a meeting this early."  
"Didn't really have to drag her," Lip said quickly, almost as if to defend me.

I stepped up, now almost nose to nose with the heavier man, my face flushing with frustration.

"Next time you call Raelyn to come rescue me, don't," I growled. "Don't meddle, it's not nice."  
"Lip called me," he threw his hands up in surrender. "They thought you were going to die. I didn't know what else to do. _You're_ the one who gave me her number."  
"Yeah well, she's old news," I shrugged. "She hates me."  
"What'd you do?" he asked me quizzically.  
"She thinks this," I waved my hand behind me, "was all a mistake. That I should just accept that I'm unwanted history and go back under the rock I came from."  
"She's wrong," Brad and Lip said in unison. I couldn't help but smile at that.  
"Whatever. Can we get this over with? I need to dig up some change to throw gas in the van before I get a ticket," I muttered, throwing a defeated look at my rusty, barely functioning van. The thing barely ran, but it was better than sleeping on a park bench, especially in the late fall months.

I tossed my cigarette aside and went inside without them, my head pounding though I knew I needed to finally get my shit together. I knew I needed to find a job before winter really set in, otherwise I'd be freezing to death every night in the damn van.

After the hour was up, Lip and I made our ways outside, both of us passing a cigarette back and forth. Once again, I found Lip studying me from the corner of his eye.

"You actually talked today," he said carefully, his tone guarded.  
"First step, right?" I chuckled. "Hey, know anywhere hiring? I need to find a job."  
"I could probably convince Fi to give you one, if you know anything about waiting tables?" he offered.  
"I've waited tables since I was fifteen," I said with a slight laugh. "Doesn't take rocket science."  
"I'll talk to her," he nodded.  
"Thanks, but no thanks, I've already intruded enough into your lives," I sighed. I remembered then that I was supposed to meet Ian for lunch later. "I…you know I had no idea, right? When I showed you my birth certificate?"  
"I know, we all do," he said quickly, flashing me a genuine smile. "You don't seem like the type to just show up and say 'hey guess what, I'm your long lost sister'," he added.  
"No, definitely not," I laughed lightly. "Did…did any of you know?"  
"Ian found a cryptic letter from Monica when she died," he shrugged. "We sort of assumed there might have been another kid out there, but no, we didn't have the slightest idea."  
"She never…" I found myself blinking back tears. "She never talked about me?"  
"No," he said with a shake of his head. "If she had, we probably would have looked you up."  
"Never thought I'd actually get answers," I mused. The itch for a drink was unbearable. I knew I had to fight it though. I knew I couldn't do what I had to do drunk.  
"Hey, you okay?" he asked, reaching to take my arm. I didn't realize I was shaking until his hand steadied me.  
"You were right, Lip Gallagher, I am an alcoholic," I grumbled, walking down the sidewalk towards my van. It was then that I saw the parking ticket sticking out from under the windshield wiper. "Son of a bitch," I moaned, kicking the front tire. I tore the ticket loose, anger bubbling in my chest. Just what I needed.  
"Hey, it's only 40 bucks," Lip said as he looked the ticket over. "Could be worse."  
"40 bucks is 40 bucks when you're homeless, jobless, and running on empty," I grumbled. I unlocked the van and shoved the garbage aside. The van stunk of alcohol and vomit. I crinkled my nose before rolling down all of the windows despite the freezing cold wind. "I'm gonna drop this off in Canaryville before I meet up with Ian."  
"Why not just park in front of my place?" Lip said hesitantly. I could tell he was uneasy about the invitation. "This way someone can move it when sides change."  
"Iggy needs it tonight for something, told him if he cleans it out, he can have it," I shrugged. "besides, I'm sure it'd only raise suspicion over there."  
"Not really," Lip muttered. "Debs is off doing god knows what and Carl's at military school. Liam's good about asking questions, so you'd be fine."  
"Who?" I asked, giving him a quizzical look.  
"We have…uh…three younger siblings. And a niece. And a nephew technically," he shrugged.  
"Well damn," I scoffed. "Really makes me wonder why I got the boot then."

My words clearly stung because Lip looked away. I felt bad, but not bad enough to apologize.

"Tell your brother I'll swing by Patsy's at eleven," I called over my shoulder as I climbed into the van. I pulled away from the curb with ease, my eyes tearing over. Monica had six kids from what I could gather. She had three more after Ian and I were born. I couldn't help but wonder why in the world she gave me up. What was so wrong with me that she didn't want to keep me? I turned down the all too familiar street, not the least bit surprised to see Iggy waiting on the front steps, a smug look on his face.

"There you are, firecracker," he cooed. I glared at him without saying anything. "Your sister came nosing around a while ago. Said she's pissed at you."  
"Friend, not sister," I muttered. Iggy knew that. "What'd she want?"  
"The van, said she couldn't trust you to drive," he shrugged. "Told her me and Colin needed it today. Got her off our backs for a while."  
"You do know we're over, right?" I told him sternly. I'd broken it off as soon as I was free from jail.  
"Doesn't mean you don't owe me," he said with a cynical smirk.  
"Yeah, yeah," I muttered. I grabbed my bag from the backseat before tossing the keys to him. "All yours. Just don't crash it this time."  
"Hey, firecracker, Mickey ever tell you that you look like a dead ringer of his fuck toy?" he asked as he caught the keys. "One of the damn Gallagher's, you could be his twin."  
"Little late to the party, Iggs," I muttered to myself. He was too busy turning the key in his hand to hear me. "No, never said a word," I lied through clenched teeth.  
"Huh, weird," he shrugged. "Where're you gonna be later? Don't want you dying from frost bite or something."  
"Around," I shrugged. "I'll find somewhere."  
"Good shit," he nodded. Iggy and I were over, but we still had a mutual respect for one another. I took off towards the train station, knowing all too well that it would take me a while to slip onto the train undetected. I had about twenty dollars to my name and definitely didn't feel like spending it on getting back to the diner.

Just after eleven, I made my way down the street towards the diner. I peered through the windows and saw Ian sitting in the same booth we had occupied earlier that morning. I felt sick to my stomach, withdrawal catching up with me quickly. I fought the urge to run down the block to the nearby liquor store, silently reminding myself that being drunk for everything wasn't the answer. I sucked in a slow breath, silently grateful that from what I could see, the Gallagher's were used to people being fucking fuck ups. I pushed open the door and nodded at Fiona, who was standing watch behind the counter. She gave me a slight smile, but from her stance, I could tell she was full mother hen mode.

As soon as Ian saw me, he waved me over, a genuine smile on his lips. As soon as our eyes locked, I felt my anxiety ease up, my mind seemed to shake the uneasy feeling that had traveled to the pit of my stomach. I stared at him for a moment, once more, feeling completely safe in his presence.

"How do you do that?" I grumbled as I sat across from him, taking in the EMT uniform he wore.  
"Do what?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.  
"Just look at me and make me feel safe?" I questioned.  
"Probably some weird twin thing," he shrugged. "You okay? How's that hand?"  
"Hurts like a bitch, but I'm okay," I nodded, my eyes locking on his. A calm washed over me, numbing any and all pain I was feeling. "So…"  
"So…I thought maybe you'd want to see this," he said softly. He reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a faded, yellowed letter. He slid it across the table to me, my eyes scanning the name written across the top of the envelope.

 **Ian & Riley Jean**

The names stared back at me like a blinding light. I felt myself blink back tears that I hadn't been aware were threatening to fall.

"When I first saw it, I had no idea who the hell Riley Jean was," he said cautiously, watching my expression. "Now it makes sense."  
"Have you…have you read it?" I asked, looking up at him with wide eyes.  
"There's two letters in there. One to me, one to you," he said hesitantly. "I never read yours."  
"Why not?" I asked. I looked up at him, seeing a troubled look play on his face.  
"I don't know," he said softly. "I always pussied out, I guess," he shrugged.

I stared down at the envelope in my hands, my fingers slowly tracing my name, my birth name. I felt tears threaten to fall and quickly swiped at them, turning the envelope over in my hands, my fingers trembling as I pulled out the pair of letters, both which were yellowed with age. Undenounced to me, my earlier questions would soon be answered.


	3. Chapter 3 - Riley Jean

**Chapter 3 - Riley Jean**

In group, they used to encourage that you were in a safe space, that anything said in that room, never left that room. It was all a lie. Whatever you said was constantly being used against you. When you're borderline Bi-Polar, or Bi-Polar II as they liked to call it, you're constantly being watched. Someone, anyone, is always waiting for your mood to change, your expression to stiffen, and you to go into a catatonic state of manic depression. When you share, they aren't listening to your concerns, they're listening to your tone. How quickly you bounce from one topic to the next, how your body reacts to stimuli, how you respond to different situations. Safe place, my ass.

 **Ian & Riley Jean**

I stared at the envelope again, overcome with an urgent need for something, anything to calm the racing of my heart in my chest. I sucked in a shaking breath and fumbled with my bag. Ian was about to say something, but stopped himself when he saw me pull a bottle of pills from my bag. I struggled to unscrew the top, my hands trembling so badly it was a wonder I didn't spill them all over the floor. I let one drop onto the table before rescrewing the top. I turned the pill over and over in my fingers before pushing it into my mouth, followed by a long drink of water.

"Lorazepam," I said softly, as soon as the trembling in my hands started to slow. Ian studied me for a moment, a pained look crossing his face.  
"You too, huh?" he asked gently, reaching across the table to steady my shaking hands.  
"Me too?" I asked.  
"Got stuck with the shitty, mentally fucked gene."  
"Guess so," I shrugged.

I turned my attention back to the letters, which were now spread out in front of me. I dared to read Ian's first, hoping it wasn't as bad as I thought it could be. Instead, I reached for the one addressed to me, my heart sinking as I traced over the sloppy, curly handwriting.

 _Riley Jean, my dearest daughter,  
If you've found this, then odds are I am long since dead. I'd like to think now you've either found your siblings or they found you and that's how you've stumbled upon this letter. Anyway, Riley Jean, I want…no, I need you to understand why I did what I did to you, so very many years ago. _

I coughed, struggling to hold back the tears. I felt Ian nudge me further into the booth, the letter now sitting between us, both of us reading the same words for the first time.

 _When I was pregnant with you and your brother, I knew I had messed up. The timing was off, the due date, all of it. I knew neither of you were Franks. I knew…in my heart, that Frank couldn't love another daughter like he loved Fiona, god, Fiona was…is, really, his pride and joy, though somewhere along the way he got lost and lost sight of that. Fiona was our world for a very long time, then Lip, oh, sweet, charming Lip came along. Then you and your brother, Ian. I hope you've found him, even as a baby, I knew he knew a part of him was missing. That part being you._

I felt Ian stiffen next to me.

 _As soon as I laid eyes on you, I had to make the hardest decision of my life, and let me tell you, I've made a lot of hard decisions over the years. Frank was already holding Ian, lost in his own little world, holding his newest son, his smile never leaving as he traced Ian's precious, little face. As soon as the doctors told me you were a girl, I begged them to take you away, to give you to a family who would be able to love you in ways I never could. Because you weren't supposed to be born alive._

"Ian, move," I said suddenly, my stomach churning. He gave me a bewildered look but jumped out of the booth just in time for me to beeline towards the bathroom, bumping into a waitress in the process. I slammed the stall door shut, my stomach heaving.

"Grace? Grace are you okay?" I could hear Fiona's panicked cries on the other side of the door. I made no attempt to answer her. _You weren't supposed to be born alive._ The words echoed in my head over and over again, causing me to spiral back to the dark place, the one place I fought so fucking hard to avoid. Maybe Raelyn was right. Maybe coming back _was_ a mistake.

I steadied myself for several long, painstaking moments, before finally leaving the bathroom, being met by two pairs of concerned eyes.

"I want to…finish the letter," I said carefully. What I really wanted to say was I want as fucking drink, but I knew better. Ian nodded, without saying anything to Fiona, gently leading me back to the booth. I could tell he hadn't kept reading without me. I slid back in and waited for him to join me before I kept reading, unaware of the glass of water Fiona refilled in front of me.

 _You see, my love, when I was pregnant with both of you, I made some awful decisions, and at my last ultrasound, they told me twin b, you my precious, sweet, sweet daughter, were dead. That Ian was the stronger twin, the viable twin. That he needed your blood supply to live. I accepted that, right there and then, that it was for the better. Then, lord knows why, you were born screaming and kicking, just as strong, if not stronger, than your brother and neither Frank nor I were prepared for that._

I felt hot tears rolling down my cheeks as I kept reading.

 _So I gave you away. I refused to give them any information for your birth certificate, I guess, I guess I never wanted you to know. I never wanted you to know that I didn't want you. Because truth be told, I didn't. It was different when Debbie was born. I knew she was Frank's and we were ready for another girl then. But with you, with you Riley Jean, we just weren't ready. In a way, I wished you had died, it would have saved your brother the pain of always thinking something was wrong with him, because lord help me, that boy is perfect in his own, quirky, amazing way. I never for a second wanted him to feel like he wasn't just as special as Fiona or Lip or Debbie or Carl or Liam. Because that boy…that amazing, bright, sweet little boy made my world a much brighter place._

 _Every now and again I'd regret that decision. Especially after I chose to leave the rest behind. I thought about finding you, I thought about having a fresh start with you, but then…then I realized that you would look just like him, and I couldn't have that. I couldn't bear the thought of looking at you and seeing him every day._

 _I loved your brother, very, very much. And I'm sure if things were different, I would have loved you too, but I never really regretted my decision to give you away. I just hope…I just hope you were raised by people who realized how lucky they were to have you. I just hope…one day, you can understand why I did what I did._

 _You weren't supposed to live, but I hope you have done great things with the life you were given. Mommy's sorry. Mommy's so, so sorry._

 _Monica_

"I…I," I couldn't get the words out. My head felt fuzzy and while I knew it was partially a side effect of the medication, I also knew I was fighting harder than ever not to shut down. I couldn't shut down there. Not there.  
"She was a bitch, Grace," Ian said softly, his hands shaking ever so slightly. "You…she…"  
"I can't," I whispered. I climbed over him and ran outside, sucking in shaking breaths as soon as the cold air hit me. I didn't care that my body shivered against the cold wind. I pulled my pack of cigarettes out of my pant pockets and lit one, letting the smoke fill my lungs enough to steady my beating heart.

I felt someone approach me from behind and nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw Fiona standing there, the letting crumbling in her hands.

"Don't let her get to you," she said softly, seeing the broken expression on my face. "Monica left all of us more times than I can count. I raised every single one of them like my own. I was just a kid the first time she left."  
"But she kept you, all of you," I whispered. I felt my voice break but didn't stop. "She threw me away like I was nothing."  
"You never got adopted?" she asked carefully.  
"No," I shook my head, a decision I quickly regretted because the sidewalk began to spin. I leaned against the building to steady myself. "No. I was bounced from foster home to foster home until I ran away and stayed hidden until my eighteenth birthday."  
"Jesus," she murmured. Then she did something I hadn't been expecting. She pulled me in for a genuine, tight hug.  
"Fiona?"  
"Yeah?"  
"Me coming back…was it a mistake? Will…do you…." I felt tears rolling down my cheeks and for a moment, my mind almost went blank. I fought against the pressure that built in my chest with all my strength. "Am I fucking up your lives?"  
"God, no, Grace, no, you aren't fucking up my life or anyone else," Fiona reassured me quickly. "Ian is thrilled, really, he is. We talked after you left with Lip. He said he finally feels like he understands why life dealt him the hand it did."  
"What about you? Lip? The others? I can go…you guys can pretend you never learned about me…" my voice was shaking. I glanced down the street, the florescent light of the liquor store almost drawing me in.  
"No way," Fiona said softly, turning me so I was facing her. "You're a Gallagher, like it or not, and now that we know about you, you're stuck with us."  
"Okay," I said softly, taking a deep breath. "Okay."  
"So what do you want to do? I can have Ian walk you over to the house, or you can see if you can find Lip and go to another meeting, or you can hang out here? Whatever you want to do, we can do," she said brightly.  
"I…I think I just need to take a walk," I said softly. Fiona glanced back towards the booth, wondering if she could convince Ian to call in for the rest of his shift.  
"Let me see if Ian can-," I waved my hand to cut her off.  
"Alone, Fiona, I need to take a walk, alone."

Fiona's face dropped. She ran her hand through her hair before nodding slowly.

"I can't stop you," she said softly.  
"I won't go far, I swear," I said softly. "I…I kind of don't…"

The bell ringing above the diner door caused both of them to turn around. Ian approached them with a forced, but present smile.

"I called work, I'm free the rest of the day," he said softly. I looked at him with a sad look, not at all liking the fact that he took off for me. "It wasn't just for you," he said, as if he could read my mind. "I'm your twin, I kind of can," he added to my thought. Either my face was failing me horribly, or he really could read my mind.

"Fucking twins," I grumbled. "I just…I don't want to talk anymore right now."  
"Cool, we can just walk then," Ian shrugged. "We don't have to talk."  
"Fine," I sighed. I figured there was no harm in that.  
"Listen, give me your number, just so I have it, okay?" Fiona said softly. She handed me her phone and I quickly programmed my number in without hesitation. I knew if I didn't give it to her, she'd get it from someone else. "Be safe you two."  
"Always," Ian chuckled to that, as if it weren't so weird to be told that. I shrugged and started down the street, overly aware that Ian was following only a few steps behind me.

"The only thing Monica got right is that I always felt like a piece of me was missing," Ian said softly after we circled down a damp ally. I wasn't sure where we were going, but I let my feet decide. "She was wrong to say I would have been better off if you died."  
"Maybe she wasn't wrong," I said softly. "Maybe…maybe she was right."  
"She wasn't, god damnit, look at me," Ian said, pulling my arm so I couldn't walk away. I froze, my past coming to bite me in the ass. I ripped my arm from his grip and spun around, my hands instinctively flying up to protect my face. "Shit, Grace, I'm sorry," a look of concern washed over him as he saw the fear in my eyes. "I'm sorry."  
"No, I'm sorry," I whispered, though my voice broke on the last word. I felt tears swell in my eyes and for the millionth time that day, I longed for a drink. I lowered my hands, though they trembled at my side. "I shouldn't have…"  
"Hey, shh, it's okay," he said softly. He pulled me into his arms, my head resting on his chest without hesitation. I sucked in a deep breath, letting the steady beating of his heart ease the tension that had rose in mine. "You're okay, I'm not going to hurt you, none of us are."  
"I…I'm such a fucking idiot," I sobbed, my entire body quaking in his grip.  
"Shh, no you aren't," he said softly. I felt him shift so his arm was around my shoulder as he slowly led me in a different direction. "C'mon, I'm going to take you back to the house and we're going to talk, like normal siblings do," he said softly, his tone too damn gentle.  
"Because we're totally normal siblings," I scoffed at that. This gave him a reason to laugh softly.  
"Hey, we're Gallagher's, nothing about us is normal," he said with a genuine smile. With his arm wrapped protectively around me, I allowed myself to be led towards the Gallagher house. I, for the first time in my entire life, felt like I genuinely belonged somewhere.


	4. Chapter 4 - Shock

**Chapter 4 - Shock**

We didn't go inside right away. I sat beside Ian on the front steps, a cigarette trembling in my fingers as I took in my surroundings. I knew the neighborhood. We weren't exceptionally far from Iggy's side of town. I'd been down the street a couple times since moving back to Chicago, but never really bothered to take in the houses, the various faces that passed. I knew Kev and V lived two houses down, having been patched up by V a handful of times when I was trying to avoid the state. Such was doomed to happen when you're fucking around with the likes of the Milkovich clan. She was more reasonable than handing a couple grand over to the ER for the same treatment.

Ian seemed to sense that I was not in the mood to talk, because he didn't say anything for a long time. So long that by the time I looked up from the spot across the street that I had spaced out on, my fingers felt like ice cubes. I quickly twisted them into my sleeves to keep them from trembling from the icy chill that had set in.

"We can go inside, whenever you're ready," he said softly, catching my movements from the corner of his eye. "It's freezing out here."  
"I…" I couldn't find words. I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that Monica, our mother, couldn't have been bothered to ever look for me. I couldn't understand why I had to be child she chose to give away. Sure, she abandoned all of her kids, but she loved them enough to keep them together. Why was I any different? Why did I get tossed aside like yesterday's trash?  
"Hey," Ian tilted my head so I was looking at him. For a moment, I didn't understand his actions, but then I realized that tears were falling from my eyes again. I blinked them away and nodded hesitantly. My broken hand hurt from how cold it was outside.

Once inside, Ian offered to loan me something clean so I could wash the dirt and the night before away. I nodded, not really saying anything, as he ran upstairs to find me a clean towel and something to change into. When he returned, he found me studying the family photo that was hung on the far wall. All six kids were in the picture. Fiona was in the middle, a huge smile on her face. From how young everyone looked, I could tell the photo was taken shortly after Liam was born.

"He's black," I said softly, tracing my fingers over the youngest child's peaceful face in the picture. "Monica's too?"  
"And Frank's," Ian said softly. "Guess we have all kinds of genes mixed in us."  
"Huh," I murmured. Everyone looked so happy in the photo, like they were truly loved and cared for, despite knowing what I did, they all looked so happy.

I turned away from the photo as memories of my own childhood flooded me. I nodded my thanks as Ian pointed the way to the bathroom, handing me the bundle of clothes in the process. I dropped my bag at the foot of the stairs, only stopping long enough to retrieve the essentials. It'd been a week since I showered, since I tried to avoid Iggy more than usual once I got released from jail. I only stopped by when I knew he wasn't in a mood, and only ever stayed long enough to shower and swap out my clothes. He still had what little I owned in his closet.

I studied myself in the mirror as soon as I locked the door behind me, my eyes tracing my tired, worn features. I looked a lot older than eighteen. My greenish eyes were dim, the usual lust for life long since lost. My red hair looked awful, greasy and matted in places, thanks to the thick curls that hadn't been untangled in days. I noticed that despite my best efforts, I had lost a lot of weight since leaving jail, my collar bone now visible where once it wasn't. I sighed heavily and set to untangling the worse of the curls before adjusting the water to an appropriate temperature.

It didn't take long to wash the dirt and grime from my skin, my fingers working the knots from my hair as I let the warm water ease the tension in my shoulders and back. I felt like crap, but I knew that was all part of getting sober – I'd gone through similar whenever they switched my meds. After I was sure I was clean, I turned the water off, though I made no move to leave the steamy shower. Instead, I slowly sat down, letting the steamy air surround me in a foggy haze. I closed my eyes, tears silently falling as I found myself slipping back into the darkness, the dark memories of my past filling my mind.

" _You were so colicky as a baby, you cried for hours and hours and never stopped," Angela, my foster mother, said tiredly. "You were such an angry baby, Billy and I considered sending you away so many times, but we never wanted to give up on you, no matter how tiresome it was._

 _We were sitting in the living room, a huge box of photos spread out around us. We were looking at my baby pictures._

" _Even when you got older, you were a terror," she said softly. I was just shy of 6. "You constantly hit, bit, screamed…you ruined Billy's best guitar, he was furious.  
"I remember," I said softly, sad tears rolling down my cheeks. "He hit me for it."  
"You're right," she nodded, her thin lips pressed into a thin line. "You deserved it. That guitar was worth so much money, you can't even begin to understand it."  
"I was three…" I mused.  
"You deserved it, Gracelyn Nikole, no matter what you think," she said sternly. I shrank back. She was right.  
"I'm sorry," I said softly.  
"No you aren't," she said, her tone calm. "You're never sorry."_

 _I didn't have words for that…I wasn't old enough to understand that that was the start of a downhill spiral._

* * *

 _I was seven the first time they sent me back to my case worker, tired of my outbursts and inability to stay out of trouble. After working hard to sway them, they took me back for a short time, but things were different. Billy had become so used to my temper, that whenever he even thought I was considering doing something foolish, he would grab me by my hair and throw me down the basement stairs, locking me there for hours at a time. Angela made no moves to help me. This continued until I finally lost my shit at school, beat the shit out of a kid who insisted on calling me Orphan Annie, and got charged with assault at the lovely age of ten._

 _After a six month stint in Cook County Juvenile Detention Center, I was sent to a group home until I was 12, before I was fostered by the Andersons…_

* * *

" _You will do as I say, when I say it, do you understand?" Timothy Anderson, a burly, drunk man with a temper worse than mine would growl on a daily basis. He nor his wife, Jasmine, cared that I was resenting them for moving me almost two hours away from Chicago, to a place even worse than the darkest corners of Canaryville. Rockford was terrifying and quickly, it turned me hard. I learned to fight, to defend myself, and to run with the wrong crowd, which often landed me in the local jail._

" _I swear to god, don't you appreciate anything we've done for you?" Jasmine screamed after she picked me up at the station for the hundredth time. I was fourteen and running out of chances. This time the charges were for petty larceny and underage drinking._

" _It's not like you care," I scoffed as I walked up to her car. "You're only in it for the check."  
"No one wants you, you sorry, ungrateful brat! No wonder Timmy beats the fuck out of you, maybe he can scare you straight!" She growled. She shoved me into the car, her hands coming up to my throat. "You're lucky we need the money, otherwise I'd fucking kill you myself."  
"No you wouldn't," I growled. "You'd have that sorry excuse of a son do it for you." That earned me a swift slap to the mouth and a long walk home._

* * *

" _Gracelyn, your options are group or back in Juvie, you know this," Gloria, my caseworker, explains as she looked over my file. "Your foster family is concerned after your recent…um, escapade," she continued.  
"Your point?" I scoffed. I was nursing a broken arm and two black eyes. I may or may not had instigated a fight outside of O'Krafty's, a run down, hole in the wall bar known for serving underage drinkers.  
"You already know they want to send you back, Gracelyn, c'mon, give me something here," she sighed. "You're failing in school, your record is longer than anyone I've ever had to place before…are you trying to get thrown in the home? You know what that's like," she said softly. "Your pediatrician thinks you need to be evaluated."  
"For what?" I growled. I wasn't in the mood for any of this.  
"Well for starters, to see where you are, mentally speaking. You're smart. You used to pull straight A's, then you started getting into fights, now you're risking real time, Grace. You're almost fifteen, if you keep going at this rate, you'll be serving a life sentence before you even age out."  
"What do you mean by mentally?" I growled. Anger bubbled in my chest.  
"Angela mentioned that you've been all over the place. If you aren't angry and running off somewhere, you're locked in your room and won't come out for days, these are serious observations, Grace," she said softly. She was a nice enough woman, when she wasn't chastising me for my life choices.  
"What are you getting at?" I was growing tired of the conversation.  
"I can keep you out of Juvie, if you let us put you on 72 hour hold. They'll evaluate you and figure out the best course of action from there," she said, her tone suddenly stern.  
"The crazy house? No fucking way!"  
"Grace, it's your best shot. You're looking at some serious time this time," she said softly. "You nearly killed that girl. And for what? Because she said something you didn't like? Grace, I know you, I've been here since day one, you need to listen to me, something isn't right…."_

 _72 hours later, I was leaving the psych ward with a new diagnosis, a slew of medications, and a very foggy, obedient mind._

 _And that was when life decided to fuck me over all over again._

* * *

I could feel my entire body trembling as I tried to rise to my feet to no avail. I knew I had to get dressed and compose myself. I wasn't somewhere I was familiar with, I was with people I had only met the day prior, I wasn't safe. My anxiety crept up on me, causing my hands to tremble even worse.

On the other side of the door, I could hear someone calling my name, loud thuds beating on the door, but my mind didn't make head or tail of why or what was happening.

Suddenly, I felt the heat of rage flow through my veins. I rose quickly, the towel barely wrapped around me as I looked in the mirror. I could feel my blood boiling, my heart racing in my chest. Without thinking, my fist came up, connecting with the mirror. Between the shattering of the glass and the sting as it tore into my already broken hand, my senses returned to normal, my breathing slowly settling, the ugly cloud of darkness seeming to lift.

"Grace!" Ian's panicked voice screamed through the door now. A moment later, I could hear a new voice and a new set of concerned taps on the door.  
"Grace, c'mon, open up," a woman's voice begged. I looked at the damage I had done before slowly inching towards the door, a downcast look on my face as I met two pairs of concerned eyes.

"Jesus, what happened?" Fiona asked, stepping into the bathroom, making quick work of the broken glass on the floor. "Ian, get her hand, she's bleeding all over the damn place."

After several long, trying minutes, Ian managed to patch up my hand as best he could, though he kept trying to insist that I go to the ER both for stitches, and to have my hand x-rayed. I turned him down until he finally let it go, realizing that there was no winning the argument. Now fully clothed and seated in the kitchen, I tried to find words, but my voice didn't want to work.

"What happened?" Fiona tried for the hundredth time. "Ian said you were in there for so long, he thought you passed out or something," she went on. "You scared him pretty bad."

As much as I wanted to open up to her, I couldn't. My mind was fogged and the pain in my hand was increasing with every passing moment. I considered listening to Ian and getting it checked out, but I knew then I'd have to explain what happened and while no one was the victim of my rage, it could still look bad if my PO caught wind of it. Besides, I didn't have money for gas, much less for another emergency room bill.

"Hey? Grace, you good?" Fiona asked, lightly touching my uninjured hand. I flinched back from her touch, feeling cornered all of a sudden. Fiona's brow furrowed as she studied me, her eyes taking in my features. "It's okay," Fiona said softly, reaching to take my hand again. Suddenly, my vision blurred as I pushed away from the table, my hands beginning to tremble. "Ian," I vaguely heard Fiona call out. I turned towards the door, feeling like a caged animal, my mind racing.

I was about to pull open the door when a strong set of hands came down on my shoulders, not in a violent way, with just enough force to keep me grounded.

"Gracie," Ian's voice came softly, his breath in my ears. "C'mon, you're safe here." I looked up at the brother, the _twin_ brother, I never knew I had, trying to find comfort in his words, but I couldn't. I suddenly thought back to the first guy I had sex with, and how this situation, all of it, made me feel the same. Naked, vulnerable, and feeling anything but safe.

* * *

" _I can't believe I was your first," he breathed heavily, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he reached out and grabbed his pack of cigarettes off the nightstand. He lit one, before offering me one, something I'd not been expecting. I took it, my fingers trembling. I sat up, pulling the thin sheet tightly around my body, aware that his eyes were still tracing my bare skin.  
"You fuck like a girl," I muttered drying, earning a soft chuckle from the gruff, bitter man besides me.  
"You would know, huh?" he teased. I glared at him, wondering why in the world I had agreed to sleep with him. "You used me just as much as I used you," he reminded me. He wasn't wrong. I was trying to get back at his brother for cheating on me just because I wouldn't put out. I sighed and raked my hands through my hair, trying to untangle the mess of ginger locks that had become an even more tangled mess.  
"You sure I was your first?" he asked again, his eyebrows quirking, as if he thought I made the whole thing up.  
"Yes, you fucking asshat," I spat angrily. I rose then, quickly pulling on my clothes, refusing to look at him.  
"Shit, sorry," he mumbled. He wasn't used to girls reacting like that. Shit, he wasn't used to whoring around with his brother's girlfriends either. It definitely didn't help that she was what, fourteen? His brother shouldn't have been fucking around with her anyway. He was too old for her. Yet somehow those two ended up together. He, on the other hand, was too old for her too, but only by a couple years, not by half a decade gap. Sure, his brother was a fucking moron with the IQ of a squirrel, but that didn't make it right. He was 21 and definitely shouldn't have been fucking around with a damn kid.  
"Fuck you," she scoffed. She grabbed her bag and shook her head. He could see she was hurting. She was a damn foster kid, always being bounced around. Somehow his sister found her one day and brought her home like a stray dog. Ever since, she came around whenever she got tossed from one home to the next. That was how she got involved with their messed up family in the first place. All those thoughts ran through his mind as he watched her leave. _

" _You fucked my brother?" he growled, slamming her against the wall. "You fucking dirty as skank!"  
"Back off," I growled, shoving him back, completely unaware that he was nearly double my size. "You fucking cheated on me!"  
"You wouldn't fuck me, swore up and down you were a fucking virgin, then you turn around and fuck my brother? You fucking slut! Get the fuck out of here!" he pushed me again, his eyes ablaze with anger.  
"C'mon…don't be like this," I begged. I didn't want to go back to my foster home. The bus ride there would be tiring enough, much less than punishment I was sure to be dealt once I came back. Running away wasn't something Timothy and Jasmine took lightly.  
"Get. The. Fuck. Out!" he screamed. I knew better than to fight with him when he was like this. As I stepped out onto the rickety porch, I could see his brother watching me from the living room, a troubled expression on his face._

* * *

" _I'm gonna teach you what happens when ignorant, bitchy little girls run away," Timothy growled, his hands tightening their grip around my shoulders. I didn't fight him. There was no point. With a swift kick to the back of my knees and a calculated shove, I landed painfully on the bathroom floor, my head connecting with the porcelain tub with a soft thud. I saw stars as he hauled me up again, this time by my hair. Another blow, this time my vision went dark. I welcomed the silence. It made everything feel safe._

* * *

I couldn't move. Ian's grip on my shoulders, though gentle, kept me frozen in place, my heart racing in my chest. I felt my hands ball into fists against my control and in one swift movement, before my brain could register what was happening, I punched him square in the nose.

I heard the bone crack as his hands dropped to his side, his face pinched with pain and desperation. I didn't hesitate a second time. I ripped open the door, ignoring Fiona's panicked cries as I took off running, with no particular destination in mind.

I ran until my heart felt like it was going to explode, my vision blurring from the adrenaline that coursed through my veins. I doubled over, coughing painfully, the cold air making it even harder to breathe.

"Grace? Jesus Christ, what did you do?" a voice called out behind her. I spun around, unaware that I was standing outside of Brad's motorcycle repair shop. I vaguely registered Lip walking towards me, whipping his hands on a dirty rag, his face twisting with worry. "Grace?"

I felt my body sway, the weight of the day finally winning out. I tried to brace myself as my knees gave way, but it was futile. Before I could react, I felt myself fall, before the darkness took over, allowing my mind the moments it needed for the shock to wear off.


End file.
